His pecs, abs and biceps were rock hard and in high def. I could see them clearly through his thin, and entirely insufficient wifebeater. I felt something smack its lips; perhaps it was my labia. I had never had such an instant, visceral reaction to a man before.
It was lust at first sight. Then, the universe provided -- or perhaps it was my friends, who were tired of hearing me talk about my intense attraction to this man. He came into my life. He was smart, funny, cute, and you really could bounce a quarter off those buns.
The universe had given me exactly what I asked for, but I should have also requested a whopping triple dose of raw, male virility. The magnificent Paul turned out to have a low, low sex drive.
Of course, the only person I had to compare him to was my ex-boyfriend, a year-old whose sexual appetite was insatiable, who sucked on my tits as if they were a dessert he would never taste again and who came 10 times in one memorable night.
Still, I was falling in love. We moved in together, and our once-a-week bedtime tango dwindled quickly to once a month, two months, three. I started to hyperventilate, wondering what was wrong. Was I too fat? Was there someone else? What was wrong with me -- with us?
He gave me all sorts of reasons for his lack of desire. He worked so hard for that beautiful body that I never got to see or touch. I got clear shower curtains for the bathroom. I bought racy lingerie. It worked the first time, but not the second or third. I started looking eagerly forward to birthdays, holidays and vacations because they were the only times of guaranteed action. Four years into our relationship, he proposed and I said yes.
But when I found myself laying in bed that night, untouched again, I had a dark moment. I could barely remember what turned him on, or where his erogenous zones were. It was like having sex with a stranger, but without the adrenaline, the excitement or the sense of danger. I rolled off his naked body and started counting off the days. He fell asleep and I rapidly broke down. Such as diet, exercise and -- sex? For the next two weeks, I continued to cry at every opportunity as I prepared to leave.
I knew he adored me, but I was young and lusty. I was beginning to think that marriage would mean death to my sex life. Like the excellent fiance that he was, Paul soon noticed that my eyes were always red from crying.
He was further alarmed when he opened my closet and found it full of boxes instead of clothes. Stage a seduction, or tell me to do something. He only grumbled a little when the doctor stuck a finger up his ass to check his prostate. Some of my resentment started to fade, because for the first time, he was doing something for our sex life. I married him, but it took a couple of days for us to consummate our marriage.
To give him due credit, there are times when he tries to make it up to me. Paul will pleasure me for what feels like hours, after which I pretend to come. I am happy to see him go through the motions, but I can't reach orgasm.
I guess I'm angry. The situation feels patently unfair. I want more, he won't give it, and I'm not allowed to seek it elsewhere. I've stopped initiating the action. It just hurts too much to hear him say no. While I know that he enjoys sex when it happens, it is also the first thing to land on the back burner when life gets in the way. But he always drifts quietly, softly and inevitably away, back to our status quo. It's the skin on skin contact, the intimacy that I want.
Exercise has been a better cure. I find comfort in the thought that one day, my sex drive will fade away naturally. Desire can be such a fragile thing, and my anger has started to kill it off completely.